


From This Point Onwards

by holyfant



Category: Always Crashing in the Same Car (2007)
Genre: M/M, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyfant/pseuds/holyfant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after, and what will happen again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From This Point Onwards

**Author's Note:**

> 800 words for the lovely degenezijde's birthday. Happy birthday, dear. <3

i. Bill sits at his desk, twiddling a pen, tapping it against his lips. The department's walls are made of glass – some shit about _transparency_ , Jim remembers; young arrogant _fuck-faced_ architects of a new generation that has forgotten that symbolism and literalism don't go hand in hand. Through the glass wall, he sees Bill stretch back in his leather chair, gaze still unfocused, strong and nimble fingers twirling the pen.

 

There is so much work to do, and Jim's brain is pounding with exhaustion and stress. All he can think of is Bill's lingering smile after the conference: like a razor.

 

 

 

 

ii. He knows avoiding Bill will be counterproductive, so Jim doesn't. He works late, simply because the workload forces him, and – through the glass of his office, that used to make him feel powerful and now makes him feel vulnerable – watches with a clenching fear how the department empties slowly. Bill doesn't leave.

 

When it's just them, when their workspaces are two headache points of light in the darkened department, Bill saunters over to Jim's office and nonchalantly swings open the door.

 

“You should knock.” Even to Jim himself, the attempt at normality sounds strained.

 

Bill grins. “I don't see why.”

 

 

 

 

iii. Bill presses him up against the glass, pushing his face into it until Jim can easily pretend the watering of his eyes is from the pain. The office light is lit; it'd only take one cleaner or nightwatcher –

 

“Bill,” he gasps, “anyone could –”

 

Bill's lips trace the shell of his ear and he flattens Jim further, pushing his jaw out of shape. The hard line of Bill's trousered cock against his arse makes an unexpected sound of wantonness well up from Jim's throat.

 

“Well, yes, that's the point,” Bill says, only barely breathless, darkly amused. “Isn't it, _prime minister_?”

 

 

 

 

iv. Mary stirs when the mattress dips.

 

“Where...” she mumbles, putting out a sleep-heavy hand towards him.

 

“Shhhh, don't worry,” Jim shushes, muscles of his throat contracting with disgust at the way he just can't bring himself to do _anything_ for her.

 

“James,” she whines, voice logged with fatigue.

 

“Go to sleep.” He runs a traitorous hand over her brow, and goes into the bathroom quietly.

 

In the shower, under the merciful veil of the water, he cannot forget the feeling of Bill's mouth on his ear. He wanks frantically, forehead pressed against the shower tiles, and sobs when he comes.

 

 

 

 

v. Bill has the decency to look well-rested during the morning's staff meeting, which makes Jim want to deck the cunt. The shiver of anger reassures him somewhat – maybe it means he isn't _lost_ , not completely – but then Bill locks eyes with him across the table, and Jim feels a slithering fear coil around his fury and choke it to death.

 

Bill's eyes are bright, laughing. He looks like he's enjoying a particularly good inside joke.

 

Jim's armpits are damp. He tries to remind himself that the others don't know – they _can't._

 

Bill leaves the room, then turns and fucking _winks_.

 

 

 

 

vi. A moment of unguardedness: Jim's exhausted body betrays him, and for a second he naps over his desk. In the dream, his car is melting, the homeless woman gets up again, and Bill is next to him, kneading his crotch as they hit her, over and over.

 

Later, Bill follows him into the men's. “You look like shit,” he says neutrally.

 

“Your fucking fault,” Jim hisses, and splashes water into his face.

 

Bill crowds him, trapping him against the washbasins. The familiarity of it, the strange conditioned sense of comfort, burns shamefully.

 

“Be – careful,” Bill breathes, and bites his ear.

 

 

 

 

vii. Jim sucks Bill's cock in one of the two cubicles – at least it's the one that locks properly. Jim's back cramps from the uncomfortable lack of space, and he has to fight back his gagging reflex when Bill grabs him by the head and fucks into his mouth. It takes ages, and by the end of it Bill is laughing breathlessly, then groaning far too loudly as he comes into Jim's mouth.

 

Shuddering from the foul taste, and working his smarting jaw, Jim clumsily tries to get to his feet, but Bill presses him back down and pulls his head back by his hair. Jim stares up at him, cold dread pooling in his gut.

 

“You have something there, Jimbo,” Bill says pleasantly, and carefully wipes a slicky strip of come from the corner of Jim's mouth with an index finger. Then, he holds it in front of Jim's face and waits.

 

For a moment, Jim does nothing. Bill's hand on his skull tightens painfully, and he raises an eyebrow in a clear challenge.

 

“You know what to do,” Bill says pleasantly.

 

Jim nods, drawing in a shaky breath. “You're... the boss,” he says, quietly, and licks Bill's finger clean.


End file.
